Dawn of Darkness
by Izanami No Utau
Summary: Humanity is nearing its end as supernatural forces rise to reclaim the earth once more. Sightings of paranormal activity has risen sharply. In these dark times, heroes will rise to fight in the ultimate battle between light and dark. But with heroes like Lovino, Antonio, Arthur, Alfred, Feliciano, and Gilbert (to name a few) Can humanity survive these dark days? Contains Pairings.
1. Hallucinate

_Dawn of Darkness_

_Hallucinate_

_**O-o-O-o-O**_

"_I don't spend a lot of time thinking about scary demons, but I think that there are things in this world that are unexplainable that are mystical or paranormal. The possibility is there, definitely."_

_-Katie Featherston_

_**O-o-O-o-O**_

**F**riday, Year 20XX, St. Paul's School, London, England.

It was a tepid and muggy day. The air, suffocating, as if someone had thrown a warm, wet blanket over it. A moist breeze flitted through the courtyard, rustling the pages of an open textbook laying next to its owner, under a large, gnarled oak tree. Overhead, a robin trilled, it's song, sharp and pure.

Lovino Vargas stirred, cracking open a bleary eye; the vivid emerald hue, a shock of color in a landscape leeched of it by the steely, grey sky. He snorted, craning his next to the side where his black duffel bag and textbook were lying. He _hated _it here. So unlike his home in Italy. The food was tasteless. The air, foul and laced with the bitter taint of smog. Even the earth's scent, normally pleasing to him, reeked. It smelled musty, as if it was molding from all the rain, instead of light and dry, mixed with the aroma of wheat, crisp vegetables, and the dry fruity fragrance of wine.

He resented his grandfather for sending him here, while allowing his younger brother- Feliciano- to stay home. He looked upwards, wondering if there even was a sun in England. It seemed as if every day just brought more rain. What was Romulus thinking? Couldn't he see that Lovino was practically _dying _here?

Lovino sat up and shook his head, rubbing his forehead. Why couldn't _nonno _allow him to stay in Italy, at least? Being sent away from home was sore enough, but to send him to the other side of Europe? Did he truly hate him that much? If it had to be out of the country, why not to a warm and sunny place, like Spain? Or at least a country that knew how to prepare food, like France. The coffee here was a joke. The espresso, too bitter. The mocacchino, an insult; drowned in sugar and half-and-half, until it was little more than chocolate milk smothered in overly-heavy whipped cream.

Why motherfucking England of all places? Lovino didn't give a rat's ass about the school. He hated it too. All boys, no girls. What the fuck? So much for any plans of finally being able to say he did it with a cute girl. The only good thing about being in England was that he was, for the most part, left alone. People took great pains to avoid him, sensing his hostility.

Furrowing his brow, Lovino stood up, grabbing his textbook and slinging his bag over his shoulder; looking like a ghost with his dark brown hair, black uniform, and now-pale skin (Thanks lack of sun). His verdant eyes, a poisonous green with his virulent expression, were narrowed. His mouth, pressed into a bitter scowl. The only good thing he could say about today was that it was the end of a school day, on Friday. No annoying teachers lecturing him about his attitude. No annoying, peppy, cricket-playing asses giving him dirty looks, with their paper-white noses pointed up in the air. He could go home to his apartment and stew in silence, while putting his history project off until Sunday night. After all, the Royal Wedding was three months ago, there should finally be something worthwhile to watch on TV now.

**F**riday, Year 20XX, Back Alley, London, England.

Even at five in the afternoon, when it was still technically daylight, the alleys were a disconcerting place. But, they were the least obnoxious. The high, grimy brick walls muffled the pandemonium of the traffic, and there were no bright flashing lights to aggravate Lovino's headaches.

He continued walking, his steps harried; his knuckles, bone white as he clutched at his bag's strap, as if it were a life raft. The shadows casted by overflowing dumpsters, wavered, changing in size as if they were living creatures. The unease was a psychotic doctor's surgical scalpel, gingerly dragging its blade a hairbreadth away from his skin, making his hair stand on end.

A dark shadow scampered out in front of Lovino. "_Bastardo_!" he yelped, jerking backwards. The shadow paused and turned its head to stare at him, a soft _meow _coming from it. Lovino's eyes widened as he stared at the black cat. It looked like an ordinary cat, harmless enough, but there was something unnatural about its glowing golden eyes. Instinctively, he made the sign of a cross to ward off evil. The cat hissed, its back arching, before scuttling off, disappearing into the shadows of the alley. Lovino watched it go with a growing apprehension.

"Dammit," he muttered under his breath, "what the fuck was all that about?"

He wasn't superstitious. Barely even religious. Did he believe in God? Yes. He was Catholic, actually. But did he believe in all that mumbo-jumbo about black magic and demonic possession?

Hell no.

Still, he streaked through the alley, eager to get out.

**F**riday, Year 20XX, Unknown Street, London, England.

Walking alongside the river bank, Lovino was convinced that he saw someone swimming in it. Though as to why the hell they'd want to swim in a river the color of old gym shorts was beyond him. Not to mention the river was all but clogged with dirty plastic bottles, truck tires, and a whole slew of other unidentifiable paraphernalia, he _didn't _want to even _try _to name.

A dark figure rose closer to the surface, the water rippling around it. Lovino paused, completely going against common sense Transfixed, he watched a wizened old woman dressed in nun's habit clamber out of the water. He shuddered and took a step back, his gut clenching.

_What in Virgin Mary's name is a nun doing, swimming in this sludge pile? _His teeth sliced the inside of his cheek, the coppery taste of blood filling his mouth. _Perhaps it's another nutcase, searching the river for a water demon_. He heaved a deep breath. That had to be it. After all, Lovino had received an email from a site he had subscribed to for no particular reason, remarking on the insurgence of reports from nutcases, claiming they had seen a supernatural phenomenon of sorts.

Still, why was this crazy dressed like a nun?

The woman turned to face him, her face an impassive mask. Lovino gulped and took another step back. She growled, baring abnormally sharp teeth, and began to inch towards Lovino.

That was when he lost his shit.

He screamed and flung his duffel bag at her, hollering obscenities at the top of his lungs. It sailed through her, as if she was made of air. Lovino blinked.

She was gone.

"Wh-what… ch-chigi…" He bent over, clutching his knees, tremors wracking his body. Cold sweat dribbled down the back of his neck, plastering his hair to his skin. Nothing was disturbed or different, it was like he was experiencing a bad acid trip. A trip he wanted to stop. Indeed, the only indication anything had taken place at all was his duffel bag, which was slowly sinking below the surface, becoming part of the ever-growing trash pile polluting the river. That was one way to get rid of weekend homework. Another F for him. Not that it mattered.

He straightened himself, stealing a glance over his shoulder. All was calm. He shook his head, placing his hands on his forehead. At least his apartment wasn't too far, now. He just needed to go through-

"Another alley…" Lovino swore vehemently under his breath. "_Merda_…"

He should've just taken a bus.

**F**riday, Year 20XX, Another Alley, London, England.

Lovino's blood froze. His eyes widened in terror. His knees turned to jelly.

A hulking, brutish man, standing over seven feet held a well-dressed, middle-aged man in one fist. Snarling and spitting, the brute shook his victim like a rag doll. The poor man screamed, sputtering for air. His face flushing a blotchy red. Lovino bit his tongue to prevent himself from screaming and stepped to the side, hoping to edge his way out of the alley.

A glass bottle crunched beneath his foot, the sound piercing the brute's guttural growls. It directed it's attention to Lovino, beady eyes narrowed. Lovino squeaked, pressing himself against a wall. The brute was grotesque; it's eyes, small, the nose, half-missing. The mouth was bared like a rabid dog's maw, spittle dripping from oversized canines. Hair sprouted from oversized ears like cauliflower. He resembled the trolls from the fairy tales Lovino read during his childhood. But trolls were fake and this brute was horribly real.

"R-run…" the brute's victim choked, grasping the brute's hands, vainly attempting to pry himself free. Lovino took a step to the side, only to stumble and fall to the ground. The brute sneered and grasped the man's arm, before breaking it clean off.

Lovino and the man screeched as blood sprayed everywhere, the mangled limb falling to the ground. "HOLY FUCK!" screamed Lovino, scrambling backwards. "Fuck-" he gasped, clutching a hand over his heart "- my life!"

The poor man was shaken again, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as the pressure on his ribcage increased. Lovino whimpered, struggling to push himself off the ground. He was going to die. A virgin. He was going to die a virgin.

Fuck.

**F**riday, Year 20XX, A Football Field, Somewhere Near London, England.

The football was a black and white blur. Weaving through a maze of bodies, Antonio deftly maneuvered the ball with his feet. He passed, the ball whizzing across the grass and through a tangle of legs. The hollering of the coach was a dull roar of noise in his ears, struggling with the pounding of his heart.

The ball came back.

With a small smirk, he darted to the side and kicked the ball. It soared towards the goal, brushing the goalie's fingertips, and tumbled into the net. His teammates whistled appreciatively and offered a round of applause, looking impressed.

"Eh heh…" Antonio laughed, rubbing the back of his head. "_Gracias_," he muttered embarrassedly as the others patted him on the back.

"_¡Muy bien, Antonio_!" lauded the coach, strolling over to Antonio and giving him an approving look. Antonio blushed even deeper, looking abashed. "With that level of skill, Manchester United will have no chance!" the coach continued.

"They had no chance to begin with, _Señor_," Antonio quipped, the corners of his lips quirking upwards. He brushed his messy, sweat-slicked, hair out of his eyes. Everyone laughed, appreciating the joke. It was a good way to relieve the anxiety. Manchester United vs. Real Madrid, one of the biggest, if not _the _biggest, matchup of the season. Not to mention the match was taking place in Manchester's territory.

"Aye, that's the spirit, 'Toni!" cried Philip, a wiry boy with bedraggled auburn hair. "Crush them in their own territory!" Antonio chuckled softly, nodding.

"_Sí_, we only have the best players in the league," Ramón, a handsome man with black hair and hazel eyes, added. He caught Antonio's eye and winked. Hastily, Antonio looked away his cheeks burning. His gut clenched, sweat, having nothing to do with the earlier physical activity, trickled down his neck. He couldn't… Just couldn't let the others know how he was gay, or even have them suspect it.

At least not if he didn't want to get disowned by his fiercely Catholic parents and raise a huge scandal.

It didn't help that he was on a soccer team consisting of sexy men in their twenties, and they all admired him. After all, he was the youngest member on their team at age twenty-two and already a national sports hero. Not to mention, he had several huge contracts with major companies, and was a model for a popular men's fashion line. Why shouldn't they admire him? Unfortunately, the admiration left him feeling very confused most of the time. Every look from Ramón made him blush, and every time someone hugged him, a little jolt of feeling shot through him; a feeling he didn't get from women.

The rest of the team dispersed around them, engaging in an animated conversation with each other; the coach, swearing fervidly as he discovered Philip had placed a banana in his bag, and it had been squashed, smearing all over his belongings.

"Something wrong,?" Ramón asked, looking concerned. Antonio jerked backward, as if an electric shock had passed through him. "...'Toni?" Ramón pressed.

"No, I'm fine," Antonio sighed, looking back at Ramón. "Just nerves is all." Ramón raised an eyebrow, giving him a dubious look. Antonio placed a hand on his hip, giving his teammate a disparaging look. "You try being me," he said, "and see if you don't get nervous."

Ramón snorted, crossing his arms. "Sure, must be difficult to deal with all your fans, the girls drooling over you, the praise, and the invitations to all those hip parties," he drawled sardonically. Antonio rolled his eyes, pretending to be exasperated, but a smile broke out on his face despite himself.

"You mad?"

Ramón chortled lowly and wrapped an arm around Antonio's shoulder. "You could send a couple chicks my way," he retorted. Antonio struggled not to blush, fighting the butterflies in his stomach, and shrugged of the arm laying on his shoulder.

"Take them all," he replied drily. Ramón's eyes widened.

"Seriously?"

Antonio smirked at his disbelieving tone. "_Sí_, fangirls are a pain in the ass anyways to deal with." He shrugged his shoulders lazily, tilting his head to the side.

Ramón beamed and did a fist-pump. "Awesome! Finally, some is coming my way!" Antonio winced as his heart broke for the millionth time since joining Real Madrid. He knew Ramón was as straight as a fence post and oblivious to the fact there was a gay person on the team, but would it kill him to be just a little more considerate? The bitterness must've shown on his face because Ramón gave him a strange look.

"Did I say something? You look as if something dead and smelly was shoved under your nose."

Antonio sighed and shook his head, raking his wavy, dark hair with his fingers. "No, I was just wondering if you have life insurance." Ramón inclined his head, not quite understanding. Antonio snorted, giving Ramón a crooked grin. "Like I said, fangirls are crazy… And you're quite a player. Indeed, this is probably the longest period you've gone without laying some hot girl. A whole three weeks?" Instantly, he regretted his acidic words.

Ramón assumed an expression on injured dignity. "Not all of us can be a chaste virgin like you, Antonio. How long has it been since Laura died? Six years?"

Antonio's eyes narrowed at the mention of Laura, his muscles tensed. "Two actually. Don't exaggerate, you know how I feel about that," he snapped. Ramón recoiled, looking apologetic.

"_Lo siento_," he said regretfully. "I didn't mean to offend you." His eyes widened in a concerned look. Antonio sighed and shook his head.

"No, my bad. I-"

Ramón whipped his head back and forth, cutting off Antonio's sentence. "No, my fault for being an ass." He frowned, ticked at himself. "Still…" he trailed. Antonio looked guardedly at him.

"Still…?"

Ramón scratched the top of his head, appearing hesitant. "Antonio… you have to know… it wasn't your fault she died… What she did… no one could've predicted it." He looked at him with an almost pleading look. Antonio snorted, blowing his bangs out of his eyes.

"That's what I keep trying to tell myself," he admitted, looking down at his mud-splattered cleats. Ramón grimaced. Antonio stole a backwards glance, and sucked in his breath.

"Trust me, no one could've stopped her. It's not like she acted suicidally depressed." Ramón heaved a deep breath. Antonio pursed his lips into a thin line, taking so long to reply Ramón thought he wouldn't reply at all.

"I know… that's what makes it so disconcerting." He shook his head, profusely massaging his forehead. "Anyways, I'm going to head off. Maybe walk around London for a bit, catch my breath-"

"You'll be more likely to suffocate," interjected Ramón wryly. Antonio snorted, giving him a rueful look. "What?" Ramón enquired, all wide-eyed innocence. Roughly, Antonio shoved him in the shoulder. "_¡Eh!_ What was that for?" Ramón yelped, rubbing his shoulder. Antonio rolled his eyes, his lips twitching upwards as he struggled to not smile.

"Alright, smart one," he chuckled, "I'm going to the city now, see you later. _Hasta la vista_." He gave Ramón a cheery goodbye wave and collected his stuff, changing out of his uniform, before leaving. "_¡Hasta mañana!_" he cried out to the rest of the team as he departed.

"_¡Hasta la vista!_" they chimed back.

**F**riday, Year 20XX, Unknown Street, London, England.

Even if London was chaotic and the air thick with smog, a walk was a walk. Calm and relaxing to Antonio. Fast-tempoed salsa music pounded from his earbuds, spicing each step with a slight bounce. It was good to be alone, once in a while. Gave him time to clear his head.

He turned a corner, parallel to a heavily polluted river. Antonio crinkled his nose at the smell, sewage, mixed with dead fish, and fertilizer. Even though he admired the ingenuity of the double decker bus, the baroque architecture, and appreciated the fact that the Brits were responsible for the masala in Chicken Tikka Masala, he could see where all the jokes about London came from. Worse than New York. If that was even possible.

His fast walk slowed down to a meandering stroll. A chill zapped his spine, causing him to pause and warily slide his gaze around him. Something felt off. He pulled his earbuds out of his ears, the music still audible.

A shrill scream shattered the uneasy silence. Antonio's eyes snapped open wide.

"HOLY FUCK!" someone hollered, the voice thick with an Italian accent.

Antonio started and slowly began to inch towards the commotion. Most people in his case would run for their life, but he wasn't the type to ignore trouble. If someone was about to get hurt, it was a natural reaction for him to try and help them out. He broke out into a run, his iPod flying out of his pocket and clattering against the ground. He ignored it, bursting into an alley like a charging bull.

"_¡Déjalos en paz!_"

* * *

_You know when I said I was doing a re-write of Blind Justice? I'm sorry… I got sidetracked after reading this book called "The World's End", the first book in "The Age of Misrule" trilogy. And while the writing is dry… Gotta love the plot and that lovely stuff. So yeah… I had this brilliant idea… and…_

_I apologize if the writing is dry and if Antonio seems slightly OOC… I was trying for a slightly darker (I guess) Antonio, but still making him the cheerful idiot we all love… Lot harder than it sounds… =w=; _

_I also apologize if I offended anybody with my portrayal of London… I guess… you could put it in the future? IDK… And two things… One… Yes… The British really did put the masala in Chicken Tikka Masala (Because they thought plain Chicken Tikka was too bland) and Soccer is actually called Football everywhere else in the world. Another thing to add (Well, another two) St. Pauls is a real all-boys school in London, which takes in boys from ages 13 to 19, and Real Madrid is an actual soccer team, which has the habit of buying out a lot of the best players in the league. But yeah… I do apologize for butchering a lot of things… and yeah… But… if you liked this story… Could you please R&R? Ask a question, leave a suggestion, critique me, ya' know… It's really appreciated! :3 Yes… Feliciano, Ludwig, and a lot of other characters will be showing up in this story as well._

_Laura is Belgium, btw…_

_Translation Notes:_

_Merda (Italian)- Shit_

_Bastardo (Italian)- Bastard_

_Gracias (Spanish)- Thank you_

_¡Muy bien, Antonio_! _(Spanish)- Very good, Antonio!_

_Señor (Spanish)- Sir_

_Sí (Spanish)- Yes_

_Lo Siento (Spanish)- I'm sorry_

_¡Eh! (Spanish)- Hey!_

_Hasta la vista and ¡Hasta mañana! (Spanish)- Different ways to say goodbye_

_¡Déjalos en paz! (Spanish)- Leave them alone! _


	2. Instigate

_Dawn of Darkness_

_Instigate_

_**O-o-O-o-O**_

"_I looked up at the cloudy skies_

_What can I do right now?_

_I don't even know that."_

_-Len Kagamine, Paradichlorobenzene_

_**O-o-O-o-O**_

**F**riday, Year 20XX, An Alley, London, England.

A blur of movement bursted into the alley.

"_¡Déjalos en paz!_"

Lovino's eyes widened as the cry reverberated through the air, echoing as it bounced off the alley walls. Relief washed over him, he wasn't going to die today after all! He staggered to his feet with much difficulty, leaning against a wall for support.

The brutish troll stiffened, displeased with the latest intrusion, and swiveled his beady gaze in the voice's direction. Lovino followed it's gaze, his relief ebbing away as a greater sense of annoyance took over him. The man who entered the alley was a slender and tall figure, with a an angular face and wide lime-green eyes, the eyelids brushed by an artfully tousled mop of wavy brown hair. Lovino groaned and facepalmed himself. He needed a fucking commando who knew all that cool martial arts shit and had an AK47. At least an undercover cop for crying out loud! Not a damn, pretty-faced foreigner.

The brute seemingly shared Lovino's displeasure. It growled and shook its victim, the poor man squealing and squirming in a futile attempt to escape. The foreigner (Spanish, Lovino guessed by the accent) narrowed his eyes and took a step forward. "You heard me!" he shouted, his sultry accent thickening. "Let. Them. Go!"

The brute sneered and reached for its victim's neck, as if about to break it. It craned its neck backwards, leering maliciously at Lovino as if to say "_You're next_". The victim screamed as the brute clamped its meaty hand around his neck.

"_Mi dio_!" Lovino swore and collapsed to the ground as his legs gave out, once more. The Spaniard's eyes widened, he lunged forward.

"No!"

A spray of crimson erupted from the brute's hand as it tightened, it's form wavering as if it was a mirage. Its face contorted with a malefic sneer, the eyes flashing red. Sores erupted all over its body, running with a rancid grey fluid. Venomous green spikes emerged from its crusty skin. The Spaniard stopped dead in his tracks, white as a sheet. Lovino screeched, clapping his hands over his mouth as he heaved, throwing up what little of his lunch he was able to choke down earlier.

_Disgustoso_… he thought numbly to himself before passing out.

**F**riday, Year 20XX, An Alley, London, England.

"...Right? He… Ki…"

Lovino stirred, groaning softly. Around him was darkness, and he, floating at the center of it all. In the abyss, it was cold and silent. Well… silent for the loud voice blaring in his ear like a badly tuned radio. His eyes snapped open, he shot up, whipping his head from side to side. A flurry of activity went on around him; people putting up yellow tape and scrutinizing the alley, talking to each other in serious voices.

"FUCK!" he swore as a glaring crimson light cut across his vision, stabbing him with a blinding needle of radiance. Lovino jerked his head back, wincing as a siren wailed, the ambulance speeding away. The cop leaning over him looked up at his companion with a worried look.

"He seems to be disoriented," stated the officer. "What about the other?" The other cop shot a glance over his shoulder, starting as Antonio beamed at him. Hastily, the cop averted his gaze, embarrassed at not noticing the Spaniard's approach.

"He's doing quite fine," Antonio replied cheerfully, rubbing the back of his head. He was awfully upbeat considering the circumstances. "But he has a killer headache from passing out and hitting his head against the asphalt." Lovino scowled at his cheery tone, looking down. His upper lip curled backwards in disgust as he saw his uniform's sleeves- crusted in vomit.

"At least you don't have puke all over you," he snapped dourly. Antonio raised an eyebrow and inclined his head. The officers exchanged disbelieving looks with each other.

"Is something the matter, uh- What's your name?" Antonio asked. Lovino snorted and folded his arms, ignoring the Spaniard's question. The officer who had been attending to Lovino stared intently at Antonio, as if he was a fascinating painting at the art museum. Antonio stared back, flawlessly mimicking the cop's curious mein.

"Is something the matter, _oficial_?"

The cop jerked back, as if stung and hastily shook his head. "No, it's just that I'm sure I've seen you somewhere before. What was your name again?" The other cop and Lovino both rolled their eyes. Antonio let out a sheepish laugh and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his blue jeans.

"I'm Antonio Fernández Carriedo, a player for Real Madrid," he answered. The officer's eyes widened. Lovino's face twisted in an acrid expression while the other cop narrowed his eyes, as if being a player for Real Madrid was worse than being a pimp; which, Lovino secretly thought, it was.

"My daughter is a fan of you," the displeased cop sniffed primly. Antonio's hand raised to cover his smile. He chuckled softly.

"_¿En serio? _I'll be sure to say 'hi' if I see her," he replied sunnily. Lovino rolled his eyes, miming Antonio speaking with his hand. The Spaniard gave him a keen look, as if he was an interesting new specimen. "What's with you?"

The sheer bluntness of the question took Lovino off-guard. His cheeks blazed as he stumbled around for an answer. "I-uh… Wha… Uh-you.. ch-chigi!" He looked away, trembling with suppressed rage.

"How cute!" squealed Antonio, his smile broadening. "You look like a little tomato!" Lovino shot the Spaniard a virulent glare that screamed "murder!", which Antonio ignored. Abruptly, the surly-looking cop cleared his throat, demanding attention. The others turned to face him, giving him an enquiring glance.

"Did you twats forget what we came here for?" he snipped. Antonio's smile fell, his face darkening. Wordlessly, the other cop and Lovino nodded. The officer dipped his head in approval and crossed his arms, the brass buttons of his uniform glinting in the scant light. "Good, now that you remember, we need you to come back to the Station with us." He gestured at the dried blood spatters flecking the walls. Lovino's stomach did a double-take at the sight of it, his mind stirring as it recalled the memory of that grotesque face.

"We need to take both of you in as witnesses for the murder of John Smith," the cop continued and gestured at the police car. "All of you, in." The cop pursed his lips into a thin line and walked over to the vehicle, opening the backdoor. After a moment of hesitation, Lovino and Antonio got in the car; Lovino making a big show of scooting to the opposite end, which caused the Spaniard to give him a sad look akin to one of a rejected puppy.

"Why do you hate me so much?" questioned Antonio. Lovino scowled and slumped down in the seat as the car took off.

If looks could kill, Lovino's most certainly would've. He was _not _in the mood to be harassed by an overly-friendly (if attractive) Spaniard who played football for one of the most hated teams outside of Spain. He hadn't had a decent meal since coming here. He'd been assigned a crap-load of homework, which he lost. He'd been a witness to a gruesome murder and narrowly escaped a brush with death. Now…

A bright red seeped into his ears as his face started to heat up from anger.

He had to deal with this annoying fucker.

Antonio leaned closer to him, gingerly tapping his shoulder. "If anything is wrong, you can just tell me. No need to be so unplea-"

"WILL YOU SHUT UP YOU FUCKING BASTARD?"

**F**riday, Year 20XX, Police Station, London, England.

After suffering through a needlessly painful interrogation by a detective with the face of a pug, Lovino leaned against a limewashed wall, arms crossed and lips pressed into a bitter frown. Occasionally, he took a break from glaring into thin air to glare at Antonio, when he wasn't looking. The Spaniard was lounging lazily on one of those uncomfortable plastic chairs, reading a science magazine of some sorts, as if nothing was wrong.

Lovino hated him for it.

Antonio's relaxed air and cheerful obliviousness reminded him strongly of his own little brother back in Italy. Oh, how he wished to be there! Away from this horrible place with it's weird, shape-shifting people. Lovino's jaw tensed, he narrowed his eyes. What was that all about, anyways? He reached into his back pocket to see if his phone was still there. Much to his pleasant surprise, it was. Quite a miracle considering how his day was going so far.

The screen glowed with an eerie light as he skimmed his email, looking for a particular one he had received the other day. _There_. He tapped the screen, bringing it up. To most, it would be utter garbage; the ramblings of a group of lunatics who managed to scrape together enough funds to maintain a website. Lovino had no fucking clue as to why he subscribed to these basketcases, but now, there was a part of him that was glad he did. At least it would give him a start on formulating an explanation as to what happened.

**So, you know all those postings on our website we get everyday from our members? The ones regarding their sightings of supernatural phenomena? There's has been an incredible spike in the number of postings. We're finally trending on Twitter! A four-hundred percent increase in activity! Amazing, right? **

**So as a congratulations, we're-**

The rest was a meaningless sales-pitch, a pathetic attempt to convince people to invest. Lovino exited out of the email, shaking his head. He highly questioned the reliability of people who sold naked grey aliens on keychains for five euros, but they were probably the only people who could produce a hole-free explanation of what the hell happened. Them, the diehard fantasy geeks, and the religious fanatics back at home who would say it was a demon, and try to drown him in holy water.

But none of that stuff actually existed. Aliens, trolls, and demons that actually bothered to get off their lazy asses and possess people like Satan instructed them to. That much, Lovino was sure of. Until now. Unless… He laughed.

"Good grief, the food here is so shitty it's causing me to have hallucinations!" he chortled, slapping a hand over his mouth and shaking his head. It all made sense. After all, who wouldn't be delusional after choking down fish, so raw, it was practically flopping its way back to the ocean? Antonio looked up from his magazine, curious as to what the Italian was talking about.

"What about the food?"

Lovino's face contorted in a disgusted expression. Antonio gaped incredulously at him, wondering if the waifish man standing at the opposite end of the room was bipolar or something similar. He most certainly acted like it. Come to think of it… _What was he even doing_-

"None of your business, you bastard," retorted Lovino, his voice, a poison dagger laced with acid that interrupted Antonio's thought. Antonio flinched, as if he had been slapped. He wasn't used to such animosity from someone he just met and didn't play against.

"Do you hate me?" asked Antonio, unable to keep the hurt out of his voice. Lovino's lips twisted downwards and he heaved a gratuitously noisy sigh, rolling his eyes.

"What do you think?"

Antonio cringed. So, yes. He shook his head, wishing that he hadn't of dropped his iPod back there. He could do with a little music to brighten the mood. He started to hum, a bright jaunty tune that was an old favorite of his. Lovino's expression turned even more sour.

"Will you shut the fuck up?"

Antonio opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off as the door swung open. A brunette, looking to be in her thirties, entered the room, sobbing furiously into a kleenex. Her once-immaculate bun was disheveled, several loose locks dangling from the messy roll of hair, and her grey silk suit was rumpled. She was Mr. Smith's wife, who, upon hearing that her husband had been brutally murdered, galloped into the station, demanding answers. Escorting her out was the pug-faced detective and the two police officers from earlier.

They were busy consoling her, assuring the woman that her husband's killer would be found.  
They should, Lovino reasoned, after all, even in the pre-transfigured state, the brute was not exactly indiscreet.

She trudged out of the building, an aura of depression hanging around her like a gloomy cloud. The cops and the detectives watched her go before diverting their attention back to Antonio and Lovino. "Is there anyone important that you need to contact to tell them of the incident?" The detective directed the enquiry to Antonio, who shook his head airily.

"No, I'm fine. _Gracias, sin embargo_."

The detective turned to Lovino, his blunt nose twitching. Lovino imagined him sniffing someone's butt and allowed a faint smirk to cross his face. "You should contact your parents and have them come over here to pick you up." Lovino's mouth twisted downwards.

"That won't work, _bastardo_," he snapped. The detective bristled, affronted at Lovino's rudeness.

"Why not?" he snipped back in an equally vehement tone. Lovino narrowed his eyes, tensing as if he was tomcat ready to lash out.

"You think I'd be here in your shitty country if I had a choice? My _Nonno _dumped me off at St. Fucking Paul's Academy, and now I have to live with it. So… fuck you! It's not like he cares enough to fly over to this shitty hell hole known as the U.K. to pick me up!" he snarled, baring his teeth. "Why can't I just fucking leave anyways?"

The detective recoiled, but quickly regained his composure, his face shifting into a hard mask. "You are a witness to a murder. That's why," he growled, as if any idiot should know that. "We can't just let you wander off! Especially considering who the victim was- a member of Civil Defence!" He paused, suddenly remembering something important. "And the U.K. is not a shitty country! We have a good economy and our Yorkshire pudding is delicious!"

Lovino threw his arms in the air, shaking his head in disbelief. "So are you saying I'm stuck here?" He jabbed furiously at Antonio. "Why can he go off on his own, but I can't?" Antonio chuckled softly, tilting his head to the side.

"I play for Real Madrid, my death is cause for celebration," he joked.

Lovino was not impressed. A fact he clearly showed by unlacing his left shoe and chucking it at the Spaniard. Both of the cops started forward to restrain him, but were stopped by the detective, who flung out his arm in front of them.

"He is an adult," the detective hissed, "and is more than capable of taking care of himself. You are a minor. That's why." Lovino snorted and crossed his arms, giving the detective a defiant look.

"I'm fucking seventeen, you dick," he huffed. The detective sighed and shook his head.

"Still not a legal adult," he replied evenly. Lovino glowered darkly at the detective, flashing him a rapid succession of obscene hand gestures. "You'll need to stay here until we can find an adult to care for you. Perhaps Mr. Lockhart-"

"Absolutely not!" cried the cop on the left, his brown eyes widening. The detective looked hopefully at the other cop, who silently shook his head. The detective groaned and buried his face in his hands. Lovino smirked and shifted his weight.

"I'll take him," Antonio volunteered after an awkward moment of silence. The detective gave him a dubious look, a thick black eyebrow raised.

"Are you sure? I don't think it's a-"

"Look," Antonio interjected, sitting up. "He obviously wants to leave. And who can blame him? Not to mention, the hotel where I'm staying is very nice and is top-notch with its security. We'll also be together, so you won't have to do a wild goose chase to inform us of any developments in the murder case." He said it in a bored tone, as if it was the obvious solution. Lovino's jaw dropped in a horrified expression.

"_Che cosa_? I'd rather be fucking murdered!" he protested fervidly. Much to his dismay, however, the detective was nodding slowly, stroking his double chin like there was a goatee there. Lovino zealously shook his head, his hair whipping back and forth.

"No. No. No. No. Fuck no. Not Hap-"

"Very well," drawled the detective, "it's settled. Lovino Vargas will be staying with Antonio Carriedo." He turned to face the officers. "You got that?" They nodded and withdrew a sheet of yellow paper, hastily scribbling it down.

Antonio beamed and stood up, dusting off his pants. He walked over to Lovino and gave the Italian a big hug. "_¡Hola compañera!_" Lovino grabbed his wrists, prying himself away from the Spaniard.

"Drop dead."

* * *

_Welp… this chapter… I'm not gonna say it… sort of lousy… I have no clue what goes on with the Police in good ol' 'Murica, much less Britain. My shortest update in quite a while. I just wanted to quit while I was ahead… not to mention, I haven't kept you guys waiting for a week. Oh well… This is easily going to be the worst chapter (I hope) so yeah… Just R&R if you want to… if you do… You're the best… And here are the reviewer replies!_

_DrakoEspada113- I'm glad you like it! Hopefully you aren't cringing from this terribad chapter X,D Yeah… we need more fantasy stories with less vampires here. Like, seriously. But… here's another chapter! Hopefully, the next one will be better! _

_randomobsession123- Well, we'll be having some of the more reasonable characters like Kiku, Vash, and Ludwig… so hopefully we're not doomed XD And… here's an update! _

_Translation notes:_

_Mi dio (Italian)- My god_

_Disgustoso (Italian)- Disgusting_

_¿En serio? (Spanish- Really?_

_Oficial (Spanish)- Officer_

_Gracias, sin embargo (Spanish)- Thank you, however_

_Che cosa? (Italian)- What?_

_¡Hola compañera! (Spanish)- Means "Hello companion!" But Antonio uses it more like, "Hi roomie!"_


End file.
